


The Storyteller

by Rakshi



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2072112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rakshi/pseuds/Rakshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo overhears Sam telling a story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Storyteller

**Author's Note:**

> This story was created as part of 'Wish Fulfillment Week' in the [Tol Eressea](http://tol-eressea.dreamwidth.org/)Community on Dreamwidth. It happens some time after Bilbo has left for Rivendell. 
> 
> It was written in response to [LBILover's](http://lbilover.dreamwidth.org/) wish:
>
>> I would really love some old school, pre-Quest Frodo/Sam. I don't care what the scenario is, although if someone wants to write it and needs me to provide one, I'll happily oblige. Can be light and fluffy or a bit angsty, with, of course, a happy ending. But there isn't enough F/S being written these days, especially old school, and I'm craving it. Please, someone??????
> 
> I hope she thinks this story fulfills it.
> 
> The idea for 'The Storyteller' came from our beloved [Shirebound](http://shirebound.dreamwidth.org/) and her wonderful [Shirebunnies](http://shirebunnies.dreamwidth.org/), which have been the inspiration for many of my Sam and Frodo stories. This one is no exception and I'm very grateful.
> 
> The Shirebunnie is: P6. Donated bunny from Rabidsamfan:  
> Sam being the one that the children go to after Bilbo has left, to listen to the old stories, and get pig-a-back rides from, in “romps on the lawns and hayfields of the Shire.”

"Now where did I put that list for market?" Frodo muttered vaguely to himself, searching among the papers littering his desk. "I just wrote it out last evening and now I can't..." He stopped suddenly, pulled from his search by the unexpected sound of children's laughter. 

"What in the world?" he wondered quietly. "Have Hob Haysower's children wandered into the garden again? Sam will be beside himself if they over-run his snapdragons seedlings."

He abandoned his search and followed the sound, finally winding his way into the bedroom. Walking quickly to the window, he peered toward the gardens and smothered a smile.

It was the Haysower children alright. And Sam was hot on their trail.

"Here!" Sam yelled, waving a well-worn trowel as he ran toward the children. "Don't you go stomping on my snapdragons! Just get yourself out of there right now."

Startled, the children clambered over the short fence and stumbled out of the garden. But from Frodo's perspective they didn't seem overly threatened by Sam's blustering. In fact even as Sam approached them at a trot, Frodo could see that they were smiling.

"We're sorry, Mister Gamgee," piped Largo, the eldest of the Haysower children. "We were after our ball. It wound up in your garden by accident."

Muttering, Sam laid the trowel to one side and reached for the ball, gently brushing aside the tender new snapdragon shoots. "Accident, my Aunt Haddie! You young'uns know better than to be playing 'Roll And Catch' here by Mister Frodo's garden. Do I need a fence tall as Sandyman's Mill?" He captured the toy then carefully examined his snapdragons for damage. Seeing none, he turned back to the waiting children.

"Here you are, Largo, and a fine ball it is too. No damage done but don't you be playin' 'round this garden again, hear? Keep to the fields."

"We hear, Mister, Gamgee," the boy replied, retrieving his ball from Sam's outstretched hand. "And we're right sorry."

Sam shook his head and shooed them toward the gate. "Fine, fine. Now off with you! Sun's near to settin' and I still have the South garden to weed."

But instead of leaving, the children lingered, whispering among themselves and glancing furtively at Sam who stood waiting.

"Well?" Sam asked finally. "What in Middle-earth are you children still doin' here? Didn't I tell you to scoot on home?"

"You did, sir," one of the younger girls said shyly. "But I wonder if we might ask a favor while we're here and all."

Sam knelt level with the small Hobbit lass and asked softly: "And what might that be, young miss?"

"Mister Gamgee, sir, might we have a story? We heard that you told a fine tale about Elves and the music they make to Peony Proudtoes and we'd love to hear such a tale as that ourselves."

She hesitated, then turned to her siblings as if asking for help and suddenly all three children were gazing imploringly at Sam and speaking at once: "Please, Mister Gamgee. A tale please. Pleeeease."

Frodo sat down on the bed, not even trying to hide his smile. Sam had never in his life even _seen_ an Elf, but he had memorized every story that Bilbo ever told him. And Frodo knew that one of his greatest joys was sharing those stories with the Hobbiton children.

"Seems a poor trade," Sam said with a wry smile. "Givin' out a story in exchange for young scamps tromping about my garden. But let's see what we can remember here."

He sat down on a nearby rock and quickly filled his pipe. After a moment he drew in a deep puff and gazed thoughtfully over the children's heads. Then he slowly blew a smoke ring in their direction and waved them toward him. "Come closer," he said, beckoning. "Come sit here on the ground where you can hear me."

As Frodo listened along, Sam wove a tale for his wide-eyed audience. His voice painted a picture of far-away lands where Elves dwelt and where there was always sweet music and tales of bravery and sadness. He moved his hands expressively his voice changing in tone and timbre sketching an image of vast, green mountains and wide rivers where the waters were pure and sparkled in the sun.

He spoke too of villains whose evil hearts sought to devour all they saw and of the heroes who saved the land and the people from ruin. 

"Now this here Feanor fellow," Sam said to his enthralled audience, "he was none too good a chap, deep down. Greedy of heart he was. But he fought an even greater evil named Morgoth and though he never won his war, he won many a fine battle as I've just told you."

The children applauded as Sam's story drew to a close. "Now off with you," Sam said, rising from his rock. "I've work to do and it's the job that's never started as takes longest to finish, as my Gaffer says, bless him. Off now!" And he shooed the children out of the garden and bent to retrieve his trowel. 

Largo hesitated at the gate. "Mister Gamgee, may we come back again for another tale?"

Sam smiled. "I'd be pleased if you did, young Haysower, and bring your friends!"

Frodo sighed as he viewed the scene, his eyes growing damp with unshed tears. Sam had become the Hobbiton Storyteller now that Bilbo was gone. His manner with the children who came to him for stories or pig-a-back rides was often gruff and he brooked no sass, particularly when it came to good manners to their betters and care taken with Mister Frodo's garden. But under his crusty exterior the children knew there beat a kindly and generous heart. 

He never refused a request for a story or a song, happily making up songs on the spot to suit the occasion or to focus on a particular child's talents or accomplishments. He was often heard giving out advise along with his tales, advise about how good, decent gentle-hobbits conducted themselves, advise which was taken to heart more often than not, for Sam's advise, though truthful, was always gently given. In short, he was becoming one of the most beloved of all Hobbiton inhabitants, at least to the children who lived there.

Frodo knew how much this meant to Sam, who had loved Bilbo every bit as much as Frodo himself. He constantly spoke of Bilbo's kindness to him and of his gratitude to Bilbo for teaching him his letters. This meant more to Sam than anyone could imagine. 

No one in the Gamgee household believed that Sam had wit enough for formal learning. All through his childhood and tween years his elder brothers teased him unmercifully about being 'Samwise the half-wise'. 

But Bilbo knew better. Bilbo saw and nurtured the bright, eager mind he knew Sam possessed. He willingly taught Sam his letters and was always happy to loan him a book or two. Sam never forgot. His love and respect for 'dear old Mister Bilbo', as Sam often called him, was beyond his power to express. Bilbo had touched a chord within this young Hobbit that had been touched by no other, save Frodo. 

Seeing Sam reading thus to the neighborhood children left Frodo with feelings he could only call 'bittersweet'. Sweet, because he loved his Sam all the more for his quick mind and giving heart. Bitter because he would never stop missing the 'Uncle' who had been so unfailingly kind to him and who had given him a whole new life beyond the limits of Brandy Hall.

He rose and wiped his eyes. Then he pushed open the door which led from his bedroom to the gardens outside and walked quickly to the South flower bed. There he found Sam kneeling, busily tending to his prize daisies. "See here," he murmured to the flowers, "I've yanked all those creepers that were fixin' to choke you. Now you can grow all peaceful-like and brighten Mister Frodo's morning walk."

"And they shall, indeed, brighten my walk, dearest Samwise, just as you brighten my life." He bent and kissed the top of Sam's head, then stroked the soft sandy curls.

"Mister Frodo!" Sam said delightedly, rising to his feet. "I'm so glad you came out into the sun. Shall I fetch you some tea and a muffin, perhaps?"

"You shall not," Frodo said, laughing and taking his hand. "You shall, instead, come into Bag End with me and I shall fix YOU some tea and fetch you a blueberry tart from last night's supper! From what I've seen you've had a busy morning what with tending your flower beds, and being 'Samwise, the Village Bard'. You must be weary to the core."

Sam blushed, and his eyes shone with gratitude. "D'you think Mister Bilbo would mind?" he asked hesitantly as they walked, hand in hand, toward Bag End. "I don't want to presume."

Frodo stopped and turned to him at once. "My beloved Hobbit, on the contrary, I think he would be both pleased and very, very proud of his prize pupil."

Sam smiled and as they walked through the door to Bag End, he drew Frodo close in his arms. "Bless you, my love, for sayin' such sweet things to me. I only hope you're right. I'll never be the Storyteller that was dear Mister Bilbo. I haven't the gift as he did. But I do love to tell stories. Makes me feel so happy inside. And..." he hesitated.

"What, dear one? What were you going to say?"

"I was going to say, my dearest Frodo, that when I tell the stories it brings Mister Bilbo nearer... closer somehow, if you take my meanin'."

Frodo smile and kissed him tenderly. "I do take your meaning. And, dearest Samwise, beloved Storyteller of my heart, I believe you're right. And it wouldn't surprise me to learn that HE felt it too and sent his most loving thoughts to you from far away in Rivendell."

"I surely hope so, Mister Frodo. From the heart... I hope so."


End file.
